a small hole presumes a larger one. a small peg looks for its opening. Ladders and pigs. A bloody spectacle. Windows and doors. The dance of a cripple.
she examines herself. with hungry fingers. nothing and everything. inside that space.
a covered bridge. that the stray train sometimes rumbles through. her tunnel. her hollow. urgent with equations for which there is no solution. her flawed math. her poor perception. poisoning the numbers.
A scale full of stones. gravity only an ancillary consideration.
how much does it weigh? nothing. too much. both.
How long has that square been trying to fit itself into that round opening. days. years. forever. i don't know. But it isn't any closer.
The carbon in the paper. Pushing the imprint through to the next. the very idea. that there might be duplicate. stops her in her tracks.
a moment as wide as a lifetime. a life as narrow as that last drop of rain. That fell so long ago. before this place was a desert.
and myself. arguing with this fairy tale. that insists. it once was different.
These magic beans I've planted laughing. As the giant shimmies down the beanstalk. And me with my dull ax. negotiating gravity's conditions.
Sunday
8/08/2010 01:01:00 AM
Sad Labels:
happiness
,
hyperbole
,
introspect
| Life Poems |